"Let me tell you something wonderful, Bertie. Nobody--not even Uncle Nick--can stand between you and God. You know the way your mother loved you? God loves you that way, too. Like a Father and Mother both. So, whenever you think of your mother's love, think of God's love, too. It is just as real. In fact, it was God, you know, who made her love you." The boy looked up at this. "Yes. So, whenever you think of God, remember that 'I don't know' must never come into your thought. You _do_ know, and you _can_ know better every day." "Uncle Nick won't like it if I know anything." "Dear child!" burst from Mrs. Lowell at this unconscious revelation of blight. "We will have a secret from Uncle Nick. I am so glad you have told me about your dear mother, and now you are going to start doing everything in the way you think would make her happy if she were here. I am sure she loved everything beautiful. She loved flowers and birds and this splendid ocean that is going to catch us in a minute if we don't move back. What do you say to letting it catch us! Supposing we take off our shoes and stockings and wade. Doesn't that foam look tempting?" Color rose in the speaker's cheeks as she finished, and the vitality in her voice was infectious. "It's--it'll be cold," said the boy. "Let it. Come on, it will be fun." She was already taking off her shoes and he followed suit. It gave her a pang to see the holes in his faded socks, but she caught up her skirts and he pulled up his trousers and shrinkingly followed her. The June water was still reminiscent of ice, and she squealed as the foam curled around her ankles, and Bertie hopped up and down until color came into his face, too. The incoming tide, noisier and noisier, drove them farther and farther up the beach, until finally they sat down together on a rock at a safe distance from the water, and the sunlight fell hotly on their glistening feet. "That was fun!" said Mrs. Lowell, laughing and breathing fast. "Do you know how to swim, Bertie?" "I--no, I don't." "That would be a nice thing to learn while you are here. You learn and then teach me." "Me? Teach you?" "Of course. Why not? There's a cove in the island where they all swim." Bertie looked off on the billows. "Would my mother like that?" he asked. "I'm sure she would, and she would like the collection of stones we are going to make, and she would like you to help Miss Burridge by weeding the garden that they have started. There are so many delightful things to do in the world, and you are going to do them all--for her." "All for her," echoed Bertie. "And not tell Uncle Nick," he added. "No. You and I will keep the secret." Mrs. Lowell looked at him with a smile, and the neglected boy, his dull wits stimulated by this amazing experience of comradeship, smiled back at her, the smile of the little child who in that far-away happy Christmas had received a sled. CHAPTER IV BIOGRAPHY